Stranded Dreams
by Detached Illusionist
Summary: A series of one-shots that are missing scenes from Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

**Stranded Dreams**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**Summary: **A series of one-shots that are missing scenes from Supernatural.

**Chapter One**

**Season One, Episode one (The Pilot)**

_Dean does not leave Sam after he drops him off._

Dean turns the car around and drives back to Sam's place; he's just not ready to leave him yet. He wishes that Sam could understand that by him saying 'We made a hell of a team back there' he really meant ' I miss you, Sammy, and I just want you to come back, so we can find Dad and it'll be just like old times', but damn it, Sam didn't get it...and if he did...he didn't seem to care.

Dean is not like his brother. Sam likes to talk about anything and everything under the sun until he's sure there is nothing left to talk about, and he's always been the one good at all the emotional support and expressing love crap. But Dean's mind doesn't work like that; he shows emotions ex-marine style, a pat on the back or a manly hug. He and Dad are on the same page about this: emotions are for chicks. Best to bury everything deep within and move on, but apparently Sam doesn't think the same way, and maybe this was why he left them in the first place. Little brother was starved for some real affection and went somewhere he could get what he needed.

He parks in front of the house and stares at the enormity of it. He still can't believe it; can't believe that Sam is all independent now, living in a house with a girl and going to law school. He has his own friends, and, of course, Dean knows all about them; he has secretly checked them all out in the past two years and has made sure the right kind of people hang out in the bar he works in...Proper honest work…Dean scoffs; Sam has always been obsessed with humanity and values. He knows his brother hates all this protection crap, hates that Dad and him always try to take care of him, but he just can't help it. Taking care of Sammy is like an addiction and he just can't live without it.

Dean stares at the house and a sigh escapes from his parted lips. He knows it was foolish to hope; he knows it was a stupid wish, but he just thought Sam would have missed them by now, would have missed…missed...him enough to want to come back to them however it seems that two years is not enough to cool that stubborn prick down. He had always been the pig-headed one.

Just like Dad.

The thought of Dad makes his heart beat a little bit faster. Worrying about Sam wasn't enough, now he has to worry his ass off about the old man, too. This is just not fair. He hates being in the middle of this frickin war, trying to bring peace in their broken family and always failing. It shouldn't be so hard to keep them together, except that it is...Nothing is simple when concerning the Winchesters.

Dean rests his head on the cold window of the Impala, deciding that he'd leave the town after Sam finishes the God-damn interview. He knows Dad's trail is getting colder and colder, but Sam has an interview tomorrow and he just wants to stay and…what? Dean doesn't know why he can't leave, what's keeping him here. He's never been a fan of this apple pie kind of life, but if this is what Sam wants, then maybe, maybe he can let him be; let his baby brother live the life he wants and keep an eye on him from a distance.

He gets why Sam is obsessed with safety; knows that staying alone in crappy motels, worrying about him and dad, wondering if they're dead has made him crave it ; has made him desire a normal, ghost-free life where there is no worrying, salt and bullets and god-damn bleeding wounds and restless nights in the back of the Impala. He gets it because he gets tired too sometimes, but his family has always been his top priority and everything else loses significance next to it. He knows that he can't expect Sam to think the same. You can't force someone to love you as much as you love them, no matter how much you want to, it is impossible.

He is all alone again. Dad is gone to God knows where and Sam is determined to leave him behind and live his own life. It's just him and the impala again. He knows he's acting like a petulant child, but he can't help it. He has always been the needy one; the one who'd always wish to God to keep them all together, after Sam had forced him to blow out the candles on the crappy cake he would buy for his birthdays after stealing money from dad's leather-jacket pocket.

Dean gets out of the car and leans on the door, scrubbing a hand across his exhausted face. He looks up and stares at the window, half hoping to see Sam there, waving at him before coming down to tell him that he's changed his mind and is ready to hit the road with him.

How friggin pathetic was that?

And then he sees _it_, a black figure standing at the window and it can't be Sam because there are two yellow orbs shining in the dark, penetrating through the shadows. Even though Dean has never seen it before, he's heard enough to know about it. _It_ is here and Dean stops breathing.

Everything's a blur after that. He runs to the door, his heart beating fast, adrenaline rushing into his veins, and he keeps repeating _'gotta save Sammy, gotta save Sammy', _but the door is locked and Dean growls in frustration. He kicks the door once, twice, three times before it cracks open and he jumps in.

"Sam!"

Everywhere is so God-damn dark and he hits a vase and a coffee table before making it to the bedroom

And there is Sam, on the bed, under the fire. Dean looks up, and, Jesus fucking Christ, the blonde chick is on the ceiling, _burning. _Dean hesitates for a moment or two and when he sobers up he knows what to do.

"Sam! Sam!"

He rushed into the bedroom, everything was burning, fire danced everywhere, and it was proving hard to even fucking breathe. Sam was still on the bed, seemingly reluctant to move. He grabs hold of Sam and tried to push him out the door, but it wasn't easy. Sam's screams of "Jess! Jess!" was not helping anybody.

They ran outside the house, or Dean ran out dragging Sam with him. People are already gathering and somebody says they called 911. They're giving Sam sympathetic looks that he hates so much, but Sam doesn't seem to notice anything. Dean's still dazed but he doesn't let go of his brother's arm, still afraid that if he lets go, Sam might just rush back in there to save his girlfriend. Not that there is anything left of her by now to save.

It's getting more and more crowded and soon the firemen arrived to put out the fire. Sam walks away and sits in a corner, shoulders hunched and silent tears falling onto the black asphalt. Dean's heart breaks a little right there. He wants to go to his brother and tell him everything's going to be all right, but that's a lie and that's not how Winchesters do it. Winchesters suck it up and toughen up; except that Dean knows that nothing is going to be the same again and he frickin hates it.

Some of Sam's friends approach him but he pushes them all away and walks to the back of the Impala. Dean carefully walks toward him, being extra careful not to utter a word. What can he say anyway? Sorry your girlfriend was burnt on the ceiling? Sorry this kind of shit always happens to us? Sorry I can never take care of you the way I should? Dean doesn't know who he hates more right now, the fucking demon or himself for his continuous failure.

He looks at Sam's face and watches as another tear falls onto the ground. Sam throws a gun into the boot of the car and stares right into his eyes with a look that Dean knows well. It's the look Dad had on his face all those years ago, when they were sitting on the Impala with Sam in Dad's arms and him leaning on his arm. This fact causes a shudder to erupt across his spine. Yeah, things will never be the same.

"We've got work to do." Sam says as he slams the trunk lid shut.

No kidding about that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stranded Dreams**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**Summery: **A series of one-shots that are missing scenes from Supernatural.

**Chapter One**

**Season One, Episode Two (Wendigo)**

_Sam: You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon._

_Dean: Sam, we dug around there for a week; we came up with nothing._

_First night at Stanford after Jessica's death_

"I'm fine, Dean. Let go off me!" Sam mutters under his breath as he pushes his brother away and staggers towards the bed. He sways a little more and then loses his balance and falls down, head hitting the crappy lamp post with a loud thud in the process. Dean swears as he walks towards the drunken young man and grabs him by the arm pits, pushing the giant body toward the bed. Sam falls on it ungracefully as he groans loudly. Dean takes a deep breath and flexes his arm muscles. When did Sam get so frigging huge anyway? He swears he wasn't this tall when he left two years ago. Oh, well, Sammy's height isn't the only thing that has changed over the past two years.

Sam's already snoring, his feet dangling off of the side of the bed. Dean sighs and sits on the other bed in the motel which was far away from the now burnt house at Stanford. Sam doesn't need to see the ruins the yellow-eyed bastard has left behind and. frankly, neither does Dean.

He gets rid of his heavy boots and lies down on his side, facing Sammy, his little brother, and his stomach churns painfully. He likes to blame it on all the booze they had consumed earlier tonight, but he knows it's more than that.

"Guh, drinking wasn't a brilliant idea." He mutters slowly and burps, but he honestly didn't know what else to do. Sam had been quiet all day. Well, he's always been quiet, but today he was _freaky _quiet, searching everything around the house with a vengeance that left Dean almost scared. Dean gets why Sam's acting like this; he really does, but it doesn't mean that he has to like it. A part of him feels guilty for everything that has happened; maybe if he hadn't come to Sam…, maybe if Sam had stayed home with his girlfriend instead of coming with him, but Dean pushed the taunting voice to the back of his mind. He has a little brother that's not so little anymore to think about and he can't afford to think about anything else.

Sam's not in a restful sleep and Dean sadly thinks that this is also his fault. Sam's never been a champion at drinking. He's not like Dean. Dean's solution to everything is booze and chicks, and what do you know? It always works for him, but Sam has to go all Freudian and analyse everything; thinks about everything so much that he sometimes loses touch with reality, gets all depressed and moody, and Dean knows it's hard for Sammy, but they can't frickin afford this. He needs Sam sharp so they can find Dad.

He knows staying here is pointless. The God-damn bastard never leaves a trail behind, but Dean knows that Sam needs the comfort; he needs to know he did whatever he could to find that thing, and Dean can't take this away from him. He's gonna stay here for as long as Sam wants them to. Hell, he's even gonna play along.

Sam's making small whimpering noises and Dean swears it's like they are teenagers once again, back when Sam had found out that monsters were real, and he would always wake up screaming, not Dad's name, but his, and Dean would climb into his bed, the macho guy act forgotten, and press Sammy's head to his chest, promising he'd protect him forever.

"Bang up job on that, so far." Dean murmurs and sits up on the bed; listening to the whimpers getting louder and louder and not knowing what to do about it. He stands up and walks toward the other queen bed, looking at his brother's disturbed face and scratches the back of his neck. "What the hell should I do?" He asks the empty room and kneels on the floor. Well, he could wake Sam up, but then he'd pretend he'd rested enough and would wanna go out searching, which sounds like a _brilliant_ idea, or he could let him sleep, but then again that doesn't seem to do Sammy any good either. It was a lose-lose situation.

"Oh, man!" Dean shakes his head and rests a hand on Sam's arm, and that's when Sam screams "Jess!"" and he bolts up on the bed, his hands thrashing around and one hits Dean right across the face.

"Jesus mother-fucking Christ, Sam!" Dean screams as he grabs his nose that is now throbbing in pain and glares at his brother. Sam, though, looks out of it. He looks around dizzily and then he lurches forward, throwing up whatever he had eaten on Dean's bare feet, and then he falls onto the floor in a kneeling position.

Dean wants to be angry; he really does, because, dude, that was just gross, but Sam looks so pitiful, so small suddenly, that Dean just lays a hand on his shoulder impulsively. Sam moves away though and glares at his older brother, daring him to ask if he's fine, and Dean knows better than that.

"What time is it?" Sam asks as he walks to bathroom and washes his mouth, grimacing at the bad taste.

Dean sighs, defeated, and glances at his watch. "About twelve."

"Great. There's a bar next to our…house that we should check out. They're open all night. Maybe they've seen something." Sam is trying so hard to look refreshed that it's almost painful. He's tempted to say it won't do them any good, but he knows it's better to stay quiet when Sammy is acting like this, let him get whatever it is that's bothering him out of his system.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair. "Dean, ah, you don't have to come with me. I can do this on my own." He looks guilty and lost, standing in the doorway, trying his hardest to act fine and Dean gives him a fake reassuring smile. As if he'd leave Sam alone.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Let's just go." Sam nods his head twice and walks out the door, still slightly swaying but managing to keep his balance. Dean rubs his sore nose and stands up, picks up his bag from the bed and turns the lights off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Stranded Dreams**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**Summery: **A series of one-shots that are missing scenes from Supernatural.

**Chapter Three**

**Season One, Episode Five (Bloody Mary)**

_Dean: Hey, Sam?_

_Sam: Yeah?_

_Dean: Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was._

_Sam: Look, you're my brother, and I'd die for you, but there are things that I need to keep to myself._

Dean is driving faster than usual, and he avoids looking at Sam at all costs. Sam knows Dean is hurt, but he refuses to apologize, or worse, spill the secret. Dean's frowns and scowls usually work, but not this time; he doesn't know what to say to begin with anyway:

'Hey, Dean. I dreamt of Jess dying before it actually happened. As you can see, I've taken the meaning of freak in our family to a whole new level.'

Nah. That definitely wouldn't work.

Dean is not good with these sorts of things. He can deal with the concrete; he can deal with things he can interpret using his five senses. Throw him an abstract theory and it'll drive him nuts. Sam figures premonition is as weird as it gets, and he's planning to keep his mouth shut about it.

'till infinity.

It's not the only time he's kept secrets from his big brother anyway.

Dean certainly likes to think otherwise. Sam knows what goes on in his big brother's head. Dean likes to act all manly and the macho-guy, but let him get intimate with someone and he'll spill out _everything_. That's just the sort of guy he is; loyal, honorable. It's as if he's physically unable to lie to his loved ones. That's why he's always got the extra cookies. That's why he's always been the better soldier in the Winchester family; that's why…Dad always loved him more.

Sam frowns, remembering Dad. He had often thought that Dad always knew about all this. He always knew how different his sons were. It scared Sam; as if he was naked and the old man could always see right through him: his secrets, his lies, it made him vulnerable, made him hate his own father because Dean would never suspect; because to Dean, Sam was the trustworthy little brother, and he'd always stay that way.

Sam remembers the old times; remembers the times when Dean would admit to his mistakes with his eyes downcast, mumbling 'yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir' like he really meant it, and then he remembers himself, eyes narrowed, staring straight into his father's angry ones. 'I'm not apologizing. I didn't do anything wrong!"

Sam thinks it all started from there, all the anger, all the resentment burning up to a point that he felt like he had to run away from his family, run away from _himself, _but he just _couldn't_, because they were _Winchesters_ and Winchesters always stayed together.

Maybe that's how he learnt to become such a good liar; that's how he learnt to twist everything and manipulate people to get what he wanted. It always made him feel bad, especially when he lied to Dean because Dean has never deserved any of this, but then again, what else could he do?

What else could he do?

Sam glances at his brother who's now humming a Metallica song under his breath. The frown is still there but it's less noticeable now. Sam's lips twitch slightly upwards, and he almost smiles. He can tell Dean is already tying to let go of the hurt. He's concentrating on the more concrete things now, _our new gig, finding_ _Dad_, because Dean is like that; _never ponder about things you can't do shit about, Sammy_.

Sam leans on the windows, staring at his brother, and he almost spills every secret he's kept right then and there because Dean feels so real sitting next to him, so comforting, that he just wants to scream everything out.

_'Remember the Halloween back in 1997, Dean? It was me who punctured all the tires, because I was so god-damn scared and I didn't want you to leave me alone, or the time I told you that Mary girl had cheated on you? Well, that was a lie 'cause I hated her, and you always let her drive in the car. Remember the big fight four years ago with Dad, when you came back __in__to the room to find me with a black eye, finding out Dad had punched me? You were so angry at Dad; you didn't talk to him for days. Well, he didn't tell you I was gonna leave back then. I was gonna leave you and everything behind; no good bye, no nothing, but the old man didn't tell you anything; didn't wanna break your heart like that.'_

But Sam stays quiet and looks out the window instead.

Dean parks the car at a gas station and gets out off the Impala, gently patting the roof.

"Want a half-caf, double-vanilla latte, Sammy?"

Dean's eyes are twinkling and Sam only smiles back, because he knows he's forgiven. It doesn't take much for Dean to forgive the people he loves, because Dean is a hero like that.

"Shut up." He says and smiles, but he still feels the heavy weight in his heart, where all the lies and secrets are buried deep within.


End file.
